By Samuel L. Leiter . . .
When it comes to supernatural pop cultural tropes that keep popping up in shows, movies, and TV series, few are as common as vampires, zombies, and dragons. For a richly entertaining take on the third, you’d be well advised to fly your Drogon or Balerion over to Theatre Row to see Lizard Boy, an inventive little indie-rock musical starring the multi-hyphenate Justin Huertas, who wrote its appealing book, lyrics, and music.
Although only now making its New York bow, thanks to the Prospect Theatre Company, Lizard Boy had its world premiere in Seattle in 2015 and was subsequently given several additional showcases, including one in Manchester, England, and another at the Edinburgh Fringe, with the original cast and director, Brandon Ivie. (A different company staged the play in Cincinnati last year.) The original cast—Huertas as Trevor, William A. Williams as Cary, Kiki deLohr (previously billed as Kirsten “Kiki” deLohr Helland) as Siren—remains intact in this production.
In this lively, three-performer, chamber charmer, running 90 intermissionless minutes, Huertas plays the central role of a young gay musician, Trevor. As a boy, 20 years earlier, he and a group of other kids were drenched in the blood of a dragon, which appeared after Mount Saint Helens erupted. It threatened Seattle before being decapitated, its spilled blood affecting each of the kids—in Trevor’s case transforming him into a hybrid human/dragon, his body covered in green scales. Embarrassed by his appearance, he leaves home only one day a year, for Monsterfest, the day that celebrates the slaying of the dragon. For Monsterfest, people dress in costumes, many so closely mirroring Trevor’s condition he feels free to mingle unmolested. On one such occasion, overcome by loneliness brought on by others’ aversion to him, Trevor hooks up with the horny Cary on Grindr.
Soon a third person joins the ménage, a sexy blonde rock star called Siren, about whom Trevor has been dreaming. We discover that Trevor and Siren are connected through the Mount Saint Helens eruption and that they, like the other kids splashed with dragon blood, have superpowers. Siren insists these must be employed to overcome the imminent apocalypse coming in the form of destructive dragons.
Trevor is skeptical but Siren threatens to kill him and assume his powers if he refuses to do battle with the dragons. While under threat from Siren, Trevor also works on patching up his broken relationship with Cary, the only person with no qualms about accepting him. (As in an afterschool special, acceptance of those who are different is the dominant theme.) This, however, takes a bad turn when weird things begin happening to Trevor, who realizes he does, after all, have superpowers, although he’s still not convinced of Siren’s story.
A good deal more of such comic book fantasy emerges, including a wonderfully staged battle royale in which the threesome fight using their musical instruments (including a cello), as Siren struggles to assume Trevor’s powers. Whatever their travails, however, all works out as the trio resolves its differences and, newly empowered (Trevor grows a pair . . . of wings), they boldly ready themselves to face the dragon onslaught.
Nonsensical as much of this may sound (and is), it’s presented with amusingly pitch-perfect earnestness by a rock-solid company of highly talented singer-actor-musicians who, while mainly concentrating on piano, cello, guitars, and ukuleles, also fiddle with glockenspiels, kazoos, and melodicas. Much as in a John Doyle production, the actors are rarely without access to the instruments on which they accompany themselves.
Huertas makes a sincere, yearning, and vulnerable antihero; and Williams is a suitably goofy, childlike friend and lover (needing a Monsterfest costume he dresses as a super baby, silly animal slippers and all). My favorite, though, is the powerfully voiced deLohr (with a Kewpie doll sexiness akin to that of the young Bernadette Peters); she makes a smashingly striking New York debut as a slender, blonde-wigged rock star in skin-tight maroon tights and halter top. I can still hear (and see) her Siren call.
Ivie offers consistently clever staging on a deceptively simple set by Suzu Sakai (credited for Scenic Adaptation/Environmental Design) consisting of an upstage platform backed by a wall of what appear to be tacked-up rock show ads from newspapers and magazines (they’re hard to make out), a piano surrounded by atmospheric items, and an assortment of black metal trunks, like those used for stage and sound equipment. Props and furnishings are practically nonexistent, placing great pressure on Brian Tovar’s lighting—watch for those pinpoint spots illuminating upraised hands in a bright green glow—and Katherine Freer’s magical projections to come through—which they do! Erik Andor’s spot-on costumes are imaginative in the best of budget-conscious traditions, while Kevin Heard’s creative sound design has no trouble being heard.
With an upbeat score, already widely played on Spotify, Lizard Boy deserves to draw an early summer crowd. The house was not nearly as full as it deserved to be at the preview I attended, but the audience’s enthusiastic reception made it seem as if twice as many seats were filled. It’s not easy being green, but with a show like this available, it should be easy enough to spend some of it.
Lizard Boy. Through July 1 at Theatre Row (410 West 42nd Street, between Ninth and Tenth Avenues). www.theatrerow.org
Photos: Billy Bustamante
